Free Heaven Is a Long Way Off by Win Blevins Page A

ride that direction.” He indicated west with a vague wave. “Men took ’em at gunpoint. I rode over there with some of the boys. Farmer said, ‘People in Monterey wanted them,’ wouldn’t say nothing else.”
    Sam glared at Rogers, thinking the clerk would have done more if it wasn’t an Indian, a Mexican, and a half-breed child. He clenched and unclenched his fists.
    Coy tensed, glaring at the clerk. Rogers gave the coyote a nasty look.
    â€œGive me that liver,” Hannibal said to Rogers.
    Sam snapped his head toward his friend.
    Rogers picked up the liver with the tip of his butcher knife and extended it to Hannibal.
    â€œHannibal, I…”
    Hannibal interrupted. “Eat. Eat good. You’re going to need it.”
    Sam got up and walked down to the river, Coy trotting along.
    After he stared at the dark water for a while, Hannibal sat down next to him and tossed a hunk of meat to Coy. “Color prejudice shows in all sorts of ways,” he said right off. “Even in people who say they don’t have any.”
    Sam didn’t answer.
    â€œWe’ll find them.”
    â€œYes.” He turned a grim face to Hannibal. “That bastard at Monterey got them.”
    â€œI know the story. Let’s get back.”
    The celebration that night was pathetic. The men left waiting here were down in the mouth about what the captain hadn’t brought—everything a trapper needed, from goods to trade to the Indians to critical items like powder, lead, traps, knives, and coffee.
    The men who came from the Salt Lake were miserable about their friends killed by the Mojaves, and having to tell the story.
    Everyone grumbled in their food. They traded piece after piece of news, sometimes personal information, sometimes an item that bore on their mission to trap beaver, sometimes a story that was funny or nutty or unbelievable.
    Jedediah caught up on the business news from Rogers. The men left behind had had an easy time, fine weather, lots of good hunting, Indians that were both peaceable and honest. Good beaver trapping, except in the summer.
    The captain didn’t say it, but he knew that Smith, Jackson & Sublette had paid wages both summers and the men hadn’t had a chance to earn the firm a dime.
    Sam sat in a deep pool of unbelief.
    â€œThe Spaniards,” said Rogers, meaning the Mexicans, “sent some riders up here from San Jose. They wanted to know what we were doing in the territory. I told them hunting beaver.”
    â€œDid that satisfy them?”
    â€œSeemed so.” Rogers’s eyes said, But they’re Spaniards, and you never know.
    Hannibal said quietly to Sam, “Let’s get some rest. We leave in the morning.”
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    S AM LOOKED OVER his breakfast coffee cup at the captain. “We’re going to Monterey.”
    â€œWhy don’t we ride together?”
    Sam mulled. He knew the captain had to go. He needed to ask for passports and for permission to trade for the equipment the outfit needed.
    The governor would tell the captain he had no right to be in the country, and he was probably a spy. “Why,” the governor would press, “did you come back after you promised to leave the country and never return?”
    At least something was worth a smile this morning. Sam said, “You may end up in the calabozo. ”
    â€œWith you. Listen—wait. I’ll leave in two or three days. We’ll stop in Saint Joseph, maybe you’ll get news there, and I’m sure they’ll make me go on to Monterey to see the governor.”
    Sam shook his head no. “I’m too worried.”
    Jedediah raised his eyes to Sam’s. “I give you a lot of rope, you know.”
    This brought Sam up short.
    â€œSometimes you act like you don’t work for Smith, Jackson & Sublette. As if you just hang around with us when it’s handy.”
    Sam dropped his head. “I guess so.”
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